Questions of Matrimony
by AmUus
Summary: One-shot. Morelli does some serious thinking one night. Takes place after FF, minor spoilers for FF. Rating just to be safe.


_Questions of Matrimony_

**Morelli's POV**

If any of my buddies saw me right now, they'd die laughing just after they made sure I wasn't dying. Who would think Joe Morelli would be lying out here in the dark, staring at the stars and pondering human nature and the order of the universe? Okay, maybe not the _universe, _but _my _universe. That all dwindles down to one person anyway. And she's not here to wonder what happened to her street-tough, macho boyfriend. Maybe that's all for the best, considering what I've been thinking.

It's one of those nights where a couple of beers have me all pensive and sentimental – obviously. Instead of taking the edge off the day and letting my mind relax, they take it to a million places deep inside that I don't really want to explore. I start asking myself questions. Questions that no one would know I even consider. Not even Grandma Bella can discern these visions.

Things like, am I good enough for marriage? Am I willing to spend the rest of my life with one woman? Can I be faithful to her for the rest of my life?

To be honest, if it was anyone but Stephanie, I don't think I could say yes to those questions. I may have overcome a lot of the shit us Morelli men are so famous for, but the thought of keeping my heart – and dick – devoted to one woman for potentially fifty years plus is fuckin' suffocating.

But not with Stephanie. I mean, it's been three years since she came back into my life, and I haven't even thought of another woman since. Well, okay, I've _thought_ of other women, but I've never come close to considering _acting _on my thoughts. I may be pussy-whipped, but I'm still a man. An Italian one at that. Yet the thought of being with another woman isn't exciting to me. It makes me picture Steph's face were she to find me with someone else. And the vision of that pain on her pretty face is all the incentive I need to keep from cheating on her.

Geez, when did I get in so deep? If I answer _that _one honestly, it's probably a lot earlier than either Steph or me realizes. Maybe even when we were teenagers so horny we couldn't make it to a bed.

That evening at the bakery, when I walked in and saw her standing there, geez, my heart just _stopped. _I was as affected as an 18-year-old male can be, and as typical teenage boys will do, I consigned all those emotions my heart wasn't ready for to my dick. My mind was screaming, "_Don't ruin this girl! She's perfect, you asshole!" _but it was overruled by my heart and body's opinion: "_This is the one you want! Make this moment count, because you'll never get it again. And she smells like a fuckin' jelly doughnut!" _And so I took her, right there on the floor. Part of me is bothered by the fact that she even let me, that she didn't value her untouched body more than to give it up to the neighborhood Lothario. I had _that _thought before I even walked back out of the Tasty Pastry. I couldn't even look back at her; my head was so full of _thoughts. _

I _never _felt guilty for having sex with a woman, but remorse over Steph plagued me for years. When I dreamt, I saw her, and believe me, they were enjoyable dreams, but damn if my heart didn't hurt as soon as I woke up. She was so good, so damn _pure, _so obliviously sexy, and I had permanently rippled those still waters. I had taken something beautiful and tarnished it. And there's not much in the world that makes you feel guiltier than that. Not much you can do for penance for such a transgression. Except avoidance. Which I happened to be very good at.

I know I passed it off as a joke that we didn't use a condom back then, but I meant it when I said she was different. I _knew_ she was from the time we were kids. And you can chide me all you want for the asshole ways I showed her she was different, but all along I just knew we could never actually be together. Part of me always knew she was too good for me. I knew what Burg mothers told their girls about Morelli men. And I knew it was easier to fulfill everyone's low expectations of me than to overcome every stereotype associated with my infamous family. And I didn't try hard, because no matter what, I knew I couldn't get what I really wanted: the good girl with the wild streak. The doe-eyed sex kitten. The quirky bombshell (in more ways than one). The intelligent, beautiful, unpredictable, independent Stephanie Plum.

It's fuckin' pathetic how even after all these years together, all I gotta do is think about her and my heart beats faster. Sure, she's sexy and it's all I can do not to strip her clothes off every time we're together, but it's much deeper than that. She makes me feel _alive_, like I'm worth more than my family's legacy, like I actually _deserve_ to be with someone like her. And maybe I don't deserve her, but that sure as hell isn't gonna stop me from trying to make her mine.

We dance around the idea of marriage a lot, and I know Steph thinks I'm still getting used to the idea, but the truth is, I'm putting a ring on her finger the minute I sense she's ready. Maybe that's shitty of me, not to tell her how I'm feeling, but I'm so damn afraid of scaring her off, I can't bring myself to do it.

Okay, part of me is afraid she'd say no because of Manoso. Something else we don't discuss. It breaks my heart to think about them being together, but I remind myself that it's _my_ bed she's coming back to. It's _me _she tells me she loves. Uncertainty about their relationship is one of those things I think about on the nights we're sleeping together. She'll be passed out in her coma-like dream state, me left wide awake with my thoughts swirling around in my head like a damn carousel. I'll touch her face and wonder if he thinks the same things I do about her. And eventually I'll come around to realize I need to show her how much I love her every chance I get, show her why she comes home with me, and we'll drown in each others' bodies yet again. That's the closest we come to deep emotional conversations.

I know, I'm a real shit when it comes to expressing my feelings. Something about growing up with a Morelli man seems to take it out of me. No excuse, I know, but it's one that's served me well over the years whenever I wanted to justify my shitty behavior. You know, play the victim and all that. Someday I know I'm gonna have to face up to all that personal responsibility I seem to have avoided over the years. And it's gonna have to start with giving Stephanie more of me.

It really is too bad the only place for these sentiments is my head. Yeah, Steph and me aren't exactly known for our communication abilities…unless loud Italian arguments count. And I don't think they do. But one of these days, I think I'm gonna have to man up and lay it all out for her. Tell her how she makes me feel. Instead of cloaking "forever" in the vise of the perfect Burg life, I need to tell her I don't care about the wedding, babies, fucking pot roasts, even the sex; I just can't live the rest of my life without her. I want to spend the rest of my life loving and learning her, showing her that she _is _andalways has beenmy redemption for the life I once chose to live. Tell her I know I don't deserve her, and the fact that she loves me makes life worth living.

Why does the thought of telling her how much I really love her make me feel sick?

That one I can answer easily.

Because I'm terrified of what revelations she'll have in store for _me_.

_A/N Okay, I know both of my works now have been kinda angsty and serious, but I'm working on some more lighthearted stuff. AND I said I'd only write Babefics, but this one poured itself out on my keyboard before i could clean it up. I think I finally understand the concept of a muse:). I'm also working on a full-length that I'll post up chapter by chapter as I write it._


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